Chapter 23: Chapter 23: Into the Depths

Noel slipped around the corner near the Class A dorms, footsteps quiet, breath steady. The night had gone cold, but he barely felt it.

He’d said goodbye to Elena less than a minute ago. She’d turned toward the dormitories.

He had turned toward him.

The red-haired student.

The same one he’d followed before. The same one he’d marked weeks ago.

Tonight, the guy was alone.

Moving fast.

‘He’s not just wandering. He knows where he’s going.’

Noel kept to the side paths, sliding between pockets of shadow cast by the tall lanterns overhead. The streets this late were nearly empty—just the occasional flicker of movement from a patrolling staff mage or late-returning student.

The redhead didn’t notice him.

Didn’t even look back.

And now Noel knew why.

The path led straight toward the Grand Hall.

The same towering building where the entire student body had gathered for the opening ceremony. The same place Noel remembered vividly from the book.

Where it would happen.

The Bloody Banquet.

‘I tried to unplug for one night.’

‘But this is it. The story’s pulling me back in.’

He followed quietly, every step closer tightening the knot in his stomach.

‘You wouldn’t come here without a reason.’

‘So what the hell are you planning?’

The redhead reached the hall’s side entrance and slipped through a narrow service door like he’d done it before.

Noel didn’t hesitate.

He moved in after him—back into the dark.

The service door closed softly behind Noel.

He paused in the corridor just beyond, letting his eyes adjust. The interior of the Grand Hall was quiet now—too quiet. The last time he was here, it had been packed with students, voices echoing off marble and banners fluttering in a breeze conjured by some formal wind spell.

Now?

Stillness.

The kind that seeped into your lungs when you breathed too deeply.

Noel moved carefully, following the faint sound of footsteps ahead—barely audible over the hush of the building. He kept to the shadows, his boots quiet against the polished floor.

He entered the main chamber from the side, eyes flicking across the massive space.

It looked just like he remembered: towering ceilings, stone columns lined with banners bearing the academy crest, long walls where enchanted torches flickered dimly in a low-power state.

This was the heart of the academy’s prestige. The place where the director himself had welcomed them.

And in less than two weeks, if the book was right, it would become a massacre site.

‘The Bloody Banquet.’

‘Over two hundred dead. Hundreds more injured. The first real crack in the academy’s perfect image.’

‘And I don’t remember how it started.’

That was the worst part. He remembered that it happened. He remembered Marcus eventually stopping it. But the trigger? The setup? The who, what, why?

Gone.

He spotted movement up ahead.

The redhead had crossed to a far corner of the hall—one most people wouldn’t bother to look at. Tucked behind a pile of unused crates and stacked chairs from the opening ceremony, he knelt down and shifted a few of the boxes aside.

Then, without hesitation, he opened a trapdoor in the floor.

Noel’s eyes narrowed.

‘There.’

The redhead slipped through and disappeared.

Noel counted to five.

Then followed.

The trapdoor wasn’t locked.

Just old.

The wood creaked faintly under Noel’s fingers as he lifted it, careful to move slow, silent. The underside revealed a narrow stone staircase, spiraling down into darkness.

Noel slipped inside and pulled the hatch shut above him.

The sound vanished.

Everything went still.

He didn’t dare summon light. The faintest glow from mana crystals embedded in the walls gave just enough to see by—dim, flickering, cold.

The air changed the farther down he went. Cooler. Dustier. Touched by stillness, like this place hadn’t been disturbed in years.

‘I’ve been in catacombs cleaner than this. Nah just joking.’

At the bottom of the stairs, the space opened into a wide corridor. The walls were stone, the same style as the rest of the academy—but older. Rawer.

Noel kept to the shadows, footsteps careful.

He moved past several empty side rooms, most filled with old furniture—folding chairs stacked to the ceiling, broken podiums, tarnished brass lamps, unused banners curled in the corners like forgotten relics.

He passed a room filled with stacked plates and silverware—leftovers from who-knew-what ceremony. Another held rows of mannequins once used for demonstration uniforms, now standing like silent sentries in the dark.

And ahead…

Voices.

Faint. Muffled.

Noel slowed.

Pressed himself to the wall.

At the end of the hallway, a faint orange light

spilled out from under a door.

He inched closer, pulse steady but rising.

‘Lets see who we have here.’

He crouched beside the door.

One hand hovering near the hilt of his blade.

And then—

He heard a voice.

Familiar.

But not the redhead’s.

Someone else was inside.

Someone Noel knew.

And that’s when things stopped making sense.

Noel pressed his back to the wall, just beside the open crack of the door.

The voices inside were low, steady—too quiet to catch every word. He focused, breath shallow, straining to make out the conversation.

Then—

A familiar tone cut through.

Calm. Clear. Slightly clipped.

Professor Caldus.

Noel’s eyes widened, but he kept still.

‘Caldus? The spellcasting instructor?’

‘What the hell is he doing down here?’

Caldus’s voice wasn’t raised, but the cadence was unmistakable—the way he spoke during class, structured and exact.

The redhead responded. Too soft to catch the words, but the posture through the door said enough. Respect. Deference.

Noel leaned forward ever so slightly, peering through the crack in the heavy stone door.

There they were.

The red-haired student, standing at attention like a soldier reporting in—

And across from him, Professor Caldus, dressed not in his academy robes but in dark, nondescript travelwear. A plain cloak. Simple tunic. No insignia.

Nothing to link him to the academy.

And yet… there he stood.

Arms behind his back.

Looking completely at home in the shadows.

‘He’s not just involved. He’s in charge.’

‘Which means this goes higher than I thought.’

Noel’s grip tightened slightly.

He didn’t move.

He didn’t speak.

He just watched.

And listened.

Long enough to know—

This wasn’t a one-time meeting.

Noel didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

He just listened.

But something shifted in the room.

Caldus’s voice stopped mid-sentence.

Silence.

Then—

“We’re not alone.”

Noel’s heart dropped.

In a split second, Caldus turned his head—not toward the door, but just enough to send a message.

‘FUCK’

“No loose ends,” Caldus said flatly.

The redhead moved.

Fast.

Noel was already gone.

He sprinted down the hallway, boots hitting stone with controlled force. No hesitation. No looking back. He darted past the old rooms, the dust, the echo of betrayal pounding louder than the footsteps behind him.

‘He’s fast. Shit.’

The staircase loomed ahead. Noel vaulted up two steps at a time, shoved open the trapdoor, and rolled through the crates he’d memorized minutes ago.

Back in the Grand Hall. Empty. Silent.

He didn’t stop.

He pushed through the service door and back out into the night air—breath ragged now, blood rushing.

Streetlamps buzzed. The wind had picked up.

And just up the path, walking calmly back toward the dorms—

Elyra.

Her braid glinted in the lamplight, her shawl drawn tightly around her shoulders.

Noel didn’t think.

He sprinted across the street, grabbed her arm, and pulled her into the nearest alley before she could react.

“Wha—!?”

The redhead’s footsteps were approaching fast.

They pressed to the wall. Noel held her still.

The redhead passed the alley’s entrance.

Didn’t stop.

Didn’t look.

Gone.

Noel exhaled. Long. Controlled.

Until Elyra snapped, “Let go.”

He looked down.

His grip had tightened without him realizing it.

She winced. “You’re hurting me.”

He immediately released her, taking a step back.

“Sorry,” he said, voice low. “I didn’t mean to—”

“What the hell is going on?” she asked sharply, rubbing her arm.

Noel met her eyes.

“I need to talk to you,” he said. “Something serious.”

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